


Beesting

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ficlet, Light Masochism, M/M, PWP, Waxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 05:46:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto’s ‘self-improvement’ quest leads to strange discoveries.





	Beesting

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Basically, Prompto wants to wax off his pubic hair for whatever reason. (Maybe he read some magazine that says the ladiez prefer it or something lol). However, he’s too nervous to do it himself, so he decides to ask Ignis to do it for him in a Totally Platonic Way. Ignis somehow agrees, but this little waxing session turns into a Self-Discovery Session because Prompto finds himself getting turned on by the pain of Ignis waxing him. Basically, Prompto realizes he’s kind of a masochist and is embarrassed by this, and maybe Ignis is a bit embarrassed (and turned on) too at first but then....with a little communication, sexytimes ensue.” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Just holding up his shirt, it’s hard to tell—Prompto scrunches the black fabric higher up and pins the hem in his teeth. His torso is smooth, lean, and hard-earned, but if there’s a way he can make it _better_ , he’s not going to shy away from that. He put in so much work to make his body as ‘ideal’ as he could, so it would be absurd to give up now. And the magazine he saw in Lestallum was very clear about the latest craze. Prompto eyes his pale reflection in the dirty motel mirror. The yellow-tinted lights overhead don’t do him any favours. 

Then he goes for it—unclips his belt and pushes down his dark-wash jeans. The mat of short, golden curls never bothered him before. But the magazine was adamant that the sexiest people do away with their happy trails. Prompto runs one hand skeptically across his stomach. His fingers glide through the blond fuzz. Maybe it _would_ be better gone. If that’s what’s popular in Lucis...

He opens his mouth and lets his shirt go, but it stays scrunched across his chest. The more he thinks about it, the more he knows he has to follow through. But he’s not sure he trusts himself to hold a razor so close to his bits. At least, not when he’s this nervous. But he’s _always_ going to be nervous about having a razor there. Anyone would. It suddenly seems absurd that _anyone_ manages to shave their privates.

Well, except Ignis. He can drive through the pitch-black night and skillfully swerve around budding demons, nimbly avoiding sure-fire accidents with patience and ease. Nothing fazes Ignis. And Prompto has no idea whether Ignis shaves his crotch or not. Although, it wouldn’t be unthinkable for him to shave Noctis. He does everything else for his prince.

Prompto wastes a few more seconds staring at the mirror, trying to talk himself up into doing what he has to. Finally, he buckles his pants back up and shoves his shirt down, then double-checks the mirror again to be sure he isn’t blushing too fiercely.

He slips out of the bathroom and is infinitely relieved to see Noctis fast asleep. Gladiolus is on a chair in the corner, engrossed in one of his trashy romance novels. Ignis is cross-legged on one of the beds, studiously examining a map. 

Prompto marches over before he can lose his nerve, and when Ignis glances up, Prompto near-whispers, “Hey, Specs, could I, uh... talk to you for a minute?” When Ignis nods, Prompto adds, “In private.”

Ignis lifts a curious eyebrow. He glances at Gladiolus but gets no response. Then he answers, “Very well,” and slips off the bed. He looks towards the door, but Prompto snatches up his hand and wordlessly ushers him over to the bathroom. Ignis obliges.

When they’re inside, Prompto shuts the door again and leans back against the counter. He has to take a steadying breath before he can say anything more. Ignis just crosses his arms and looks at Prompto curiously. 

“I, uh...” he starts, only to trail off and shift his weight onto the other foot. The he just blurts out, “I wanna shave my hair—you know, _down there_ —but, like, I’m worried I’ll cut myself, and you seem, uh, y’know, really steady, so I thought...”

“Waxing,” Ignis suggests, and the word, to Prompto’s surprise, holds a complete lack of judgment. “That would be my recommendation, rather than a blade.”

Prompto says, “Oh,” and is pretty sure he’s blushing. Ignis just looks at him. So Prompto fidgets and wonders aloud, “Won’t that, um... that sounds like it’ll just hurt _more_ , so...”

“You can simply leave it,” Ignis tries. “The hair, I mean.”

Prompto shrugs. It does ease his mind somewhat that Ignis doesn’t seem to consider hairlessness necessary, but then, his first reaction wasn’t ‘pubic hair is perfectly acceptable’ but ‘try wax.’ 

They continue to stand in awkward silence for another minute or two, and then Prompto somehow finds himself asking, “Could you help me?” Which isn’t at all normal. But it’s not like he has anyone else he can go to on their journey. But he _might_ meet a cute girl ready to give him a shot, and he has to be ready.

He still fully expects Ignis to say no, but Ignis only hesitates for a moment, then mutters, “This _is_ a rather hairy situation.” Prompto’s too on edge to laugh. Ignis slickly carries on. “I’ll be right back.” And the moment he’s gone, Prompto lets out a shaken breath and slumps back on the counter. 

Ignis returns fairly quickly. He’s holding a stack of thin, translucent strips of maybe-paper, a small bottle, and a stick, none of which Prompto’s ever seen before. His stomach does an unsettling flip just at the sight of the odd tools. But he trusts Ignis, and he tells himself it’ll probably go much better than if he’d tried to fumble through shaving himself on his own. 

Standing right in front of him in the cramped bathroom, Ignis warns him, “This may be uncomfortable, unfortunately, but cold wax is simply easier to bring on the road than hot wax.”

Prompto doesn’t know why the temperature should matter and just mumbles weakly, “Sure.”

Then Ignis just sort of... stands there. So does Prompto. Until Ignis looks pointedly down, and Prompto squeaks, “Oh,” and realizes what the hold up is. His hands fall to his waist. He should’ve thought of that part. But now that he does, it’s not as awful as it probably should be.

It’s strangely simple to unclasp his belt, draw down his fly, and push his jeans and briefs both down in one go. He knows he’s bright pink, and he tries not to look at Ignis’ face, but he still manages to slide the fabric down his thighs, bending just slightly, then letting it fall to his knees. His jeans are tight enough that the denim fabric still clings to his calves. The air feels suddenly cold against his naked skin, and he crosses his arms over his stomach, before realizing the hair goes a bit too high for that. Sucking in a breath, Prompto rolls his shirt up to his armpits. 

And he stands there, naked in all the places where it counts, thrust forward from the counter and exposed to one of his closest friends. His only consolation is that it’s not Noctis or Gladiolus. They’d surely take the opportunity to tease. But Ignis does no such thing. He doesn’t even make another pun. His eyes do trail down Prompto’s trim body, lingering along his crotch, but that can’t be helped. Ignis’ soft lips part. Prompto stares as they close again. Then Ignis is sinking gracefully to his knees with a cool professionalism that makes Prompto shiver. He never thought he’d be in a dirty hotel bathroom with the prince’s advisor at his feet.

It’s both somewhat embarrassing and strangely alluring. But Prompto tries not to focus on that. It’s a natural response, he thinks. Ignis is a good-looking man. Anyone would get a thrill out of having his suave beauty knelt before them. There solely to help him. Handsome face conspicuously close to his cock...

Prompto bites the inside of his mouth and firmly tells himself to _stop it_. This is only a means to an end. And the last thing he needs is his overactive hormones ruining that. He makes himself stare over Ignis’ head, onto the cracked tiles of the tiny shower stall. Then he feels something cold against his skin and nearly yelps, head dropping down.

“Sorry,” Ignis murmurs, gaze fixed on Ignis’ crotch. His long, supple fingers glide across the sensitive area just above his shaft, thumb and index finger stretching him taut. The other hand is clutching the thin stick and spreading the waxy, paste-like substance over his hair, following its natural direction. Ignis has shed his gloves somewhere along the way, and somehow, the rare peek at his bare hands feels vaguely _dirty_ for it, like Ignis is also underdressed. Those skillful hands dance along his crotch, and Ignis meticulously spreads the wax, until Prompto’s covered right to the tops of his thighs. It could go a little further. He could even have Ignis wax his legs. But that’s another issue, and Ignis sticks to the one place.

He retires the bottle and spatula, instead picking up one of the strips of paper. He presses it firmly against Prompto’s body, then smoothes it, just above his shaft and so very close to _touching him there_. Ignis’ fingers linger on the bottom of the strip, and he asks, “Ready?”

Prompto breathes, “Yeah,” and Ignis rips it off.

Prompto practically doubles over. His fingers bite hard into the countertop, his teeth clenching to stifle the scream that rips out of his throat. It _hurts_. The single movement stung like hell, but the skin still prickles in its wake. He actually scrunches his eyes closed, and when he opens them again, he finds Ignis peering sympathetically up at him. Prompto almost whimpers.

Ignis quietly asks, “Are you sure about this?”

Of course, Prompto nods. He couldn’t stop now if he wanted to. It’d look ridiculous. He glances down at the single smooth patch amidst his curls, which look far rougher by comparison. He even drops a hand to tentatively finger the skin, but that just makes it sore, and he quickly withdraws. It is _smooth_ though. Soft. He could see the appeal. He mumbles, “Iggy... keep going.”

Ignis obeys. He fetches another strip, places his hand over Prompto’s stomach, and pulls the area taut again. His other hand grips the end. His palms are so _warm_ compared to the cold bathroom’s surfaces and the sticky wax.

He yanks the strip away, and Prompto whines. It hurts just as much the second time, so _close_ to his cock that the shock actually makes it twitch like an electrical current’s caught it in the crossfire. Prompto blushes deeper, one hand darting up to hold against his mouth. He doesn’t want to wake Noctis or call Gladiolus over. And he doesn’t want to get _hard_ , but the tingling sensation left behind might have that bizarre effect. There’s something about the sting of it that sets off fireworks. They should be _bad_ fireworks.

But on the third strip, he realizes that’s not entirely the case. It does hurt. But that pain, so sharp and yet _intimate_ , administered by Ignis’ talented hands, is making his sock-covered toes curl against the tiled floor. As Ignis lays the third strip, Prompto realizes he can feel Ignis’ rapid breath against his throbbing cock. The torture’s making all the blood rush there. His skin is hot and feverish. Ignis rips another off. Prompto tries not to swear.

One after another, the strips go on and tear off, offering agony each time. Ignis’ hands deftly trace over him, pressing in, sliding across his battered flesh, tending to and administering new abuse that Prompto takes with growing want. And _shame_. He knows it’s not supposed to feel good. And it doesn’t. But the bad is so _good_ , and the more he’s hurt, the harder he gets. He can’t himself. He can hardly even breathe. He trembles against the counter and pants and whimpers into his hand as Ignis hurts him.

It shouldn’t be about that. He stares down at Ignis through a haze of _lust_ and guilt, and desperately hopes that Ignis can’t tell he’s some sort of sick masochist. Ignis’ high cheeks look just as flushed. It’s obvious why. Another strip, and Prompto’s cock gets so stiff that the pink tip actually nudges Ignis’ cheek, and that seems to startle Ignis out of his reverie. 

He moves just out of its reach, and Prompto can’t even bring himself to say ‘sorry.’ It’s all he can do not to collapse. He has no idea how much hair is left, but he wants Ignis to keep going.

Ignis looks up at him. “Prom.”

Prompto doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have any words. Ignis’ eyes stay locked on his as another strip is carefully applied.

The eye connection remains even through Ignis jerking it away. Prompto lets out a filthy moan that his hand doesn’t _quite_ muffle as much as it should.

Ignis murmurs softly, “You’re enjoying this.” Prompto shakes his head. He wants to lie. But Ignis tells him, “It’s alright, Prompto. Different people have different kinks.”

“I’m not that weird,” Prompto insists, trying for a jovial laugh that just sounds _wrong_. 

Ignis just calmly says, “It’s not weird. Light masochism is more common than you’d think, and this is a sensitive area of your body. The dual sensations there are bound to be... confusing.” Somehow, Prompto doesn’t think that everyone who waxes their crotch gets off on it. But he appreciates Ignis’ attempt at consolation.

And he does nervously wet his lips and admit, “I might be, uh... a little turned on...” Ignis quirks one brow, as though to note the understatement, and Prompto blurts, “I didn’t mean to! But, like, you’re also kinda hot, and kneeling there—” He cuts himself off, because he did _not_ mean to say that. He clamps his mouth shut. 

He half expects Ignis to bolt, but Ignis only tells him, “I suppose it would only be fair to admit that I’m also finding the situation somewhat... interesting.” Prompto doesn’t know if he’s relieved or elated. Ignis pauses, then asks, “Might I try something else?”

Prompto just wants to keep going. He wants Ignis to trail the wax down his inner thighs and maybe even try his sac. But it’s only fair to answer, “Y-yeah... go to town.”

Ignis lays another strip. Prompto hadn’t even noticed there was wax left. He watches Ignis’ fingertips clutch the end, and then Ignis leans in closer, tilts his face, and parts his perfect lips. His open mouth hovers by Prompto’s shaft, only to duck below and engulf one ball. Prompto makes a garbled noise and just barely manages to keep his legs from buckling. Ignis’ dilating eyes flicker up to Prompto’s, and he clamps on.

Then he rips off the strip and tugs at Prompto’s sac at the exact same time, filling Prompto with a rush of dizzying pain and pleasure that makes him see stars. Ignis even continues to hold him taut a few seconds after the wax is gone. Then he releases Prompto with a wet ‘pop,’ and Prompto groans loudly. 

There isn’t much wax left. Bug Ignis sees to it, now mouthing at Prompto’s cock and balls while he works. He pulls at Prompto’s sac, he lightly nips at the shaft, and he never quite _bites_ , but he’s still _cruel_ to the most sensitive part of Prompto’s body. By the time all the wax is gone, Ignis’ large hands dragging over his sore, spotless skin, Prompto’s achingly hard. Ignis even rakes his nails down the reddened flesh, and Prompto could almost cry. Maybe he will. He diverts one hand from the counter to clutch Ignis’ hair, messing up the style, but Ignis only rewards him with another nip. Finally, Ignis brings his lips to the tip of Prompto’s leaking cock and wraps his dry hand around the base. He opens up, and that first suck is all it takes.

Prompto comes with a horrible cry, one he can’t stifle in time, and he can’t think about it anyway—he’s busy spilling into Ignis’ mouth and struggling just to stay up. His knees are shaking. His hips jerk to milk it out, but Ignis’ harsh grip holds him firm. Ignis still drinks it down. Ignis is _gorgeous_ , and Prompto’s overwhelmed. 

He’s barely come down when a knock bangs on the door. He nearly jumps out of his skin. Gladiolus’ voice calls through it, “Hey, everything okay in there?”

Ignis withdraws from Prompto’s spent cock to casually reply, “Perfectly fine. Prompto just had a little accident.”

Gladiolus chuckles, and Prompto, if possible, blushes even redder. But Gladiolus doesn’t ask what the accident was, and his footsteps swiftly putter off. Prompto’s left trembling.

He can’t take it. He collapses down into Ignis’ lap. With the pleasure part gone, his body stings even more, but he doesn’t regret it. Ignis murmurs, “We should clean you up.”

But Prompto likes to finish what he starts. So he sucks in his pride, mutters, “Later,” and reaches for Ignis’ fly.


End file.
